I watch the busy people rushing through life.
They don’t have a moment to stop and notice that they are being watched,
Nor do they have the moment to notice that their daughters are becoming wrecked emotionally,
That their sons are on the edge, that their babies are not progressing,
Nor do they notice their dying mother and father or their forgetting grandparents.
They don’t have the moment to notice.
I take a step out from behind the coffee shop window,
I am on the corner of Baldwin Street, in the city of Bristol,
The sun is high in the sky and there are no clouds,
I suck in a gush of air through my nose
While I close my eyes
I blow out a flood of breath.
I am a busy person too,
I am busy relaxing and enjoying my existence,
Eating and drinking, loving and living,
I am two decades old but I have understood already.
I will not partake on the journey where I will be dying to live
When that life means really living to die
I approach a woman who has taken a break from the buzz,
She’s bent over by the bus stop, pulling at her heel.
I start, ‘Excuse me, Mam’
‘No, Sorry, I’m busy’ she says as she tries to run off.
Her heel gives way and I approach again.
‘I can see that and that is why I am here’
‘No, no I can’t talk to you now’. She throws her shoes off
And barefooted she re-joins the rush through life.
She hadn’t noticed that she had dropped her wallet and key
My returning it was unsuccessful because she was too busy.